


looking at the stars

by Nokomis



Category: Penny Dreadful (TV), Shameless (US)
Genre: Crossover, M/M, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-16
Updated: 2014-09-16
Packaged: 2018-02-17 16:24:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2315933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nokomis/pseuds/Nokomis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's impossible to tell which attracted Dorian more -- the graceful way the boy danced, lascivious and careless and wild, or the way his act transformed into true delight when his companion's hackles were raised when anyone approached him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	looking at the stars

**Author's Note:**

> Written for lady_writes, who requested a Shameless/Penny Dreadful crossover. I initially thought it was impossible, but then I remembered that Dorian Gray exists. Originally posted on [tumblr.](http://nokomiss.tumblr.com/post/97594994157/lady-writes-replied-to-your-post-so-im-opening)

It's impossible to tell which attracts Dorian more -- the graceful way the boy dances, lascivious and careless and wild, or the way his act transforms into true delight when his companion's hackles are raised when anyone approaches him.

The club itself is tasteless and its patrons easy, especially for someone like Dorian, so the actual snarled lip he gets when he approaches Mickey ("Like the mouse, but not nearly as cute," a bearded man tells him when he makes inquiries. Dorian doesn't necessarily agree with the assessment.) only serves to pique his interest further.

"Find another cock to tug on, buddy, that one's taken," Mickey bites out when Dorian steps towards the dancing boy.

The crudity and menace remind Dorian of someone he'd long left behind. Mickey lacks the haunted, fevered eyes, but it's a mercy.

"I want to invite you both to a soiree," Dorian says instead, knowing the effect that his accent and apparent wealth has on these Chicago boys.

Mickey blinks, chin pulled in, and rejects him with a, "Me and Ian, we ain't interested in your fuckin' _soiree_."

Dorian accepts Mickey's statement calmly, and two hours later, Ian is dragging Mickey into Dorian's latest home.

The house is new and feels temporary, for all that Dorian's collected treasures decorate its walls. Mickey's stubborn and short-tempered as any junkyard dog, but after Dorian managed to sidle up to Ian while Mickey bought a beer, he reluctantly agreed to come along.

"To keep your dumb ass safe, Gallagher," he’d said, but there was a current under the words, in the look they exchanged, and Dorian knows that they're planning something.

Once Mickey agreed to come, Ian became more flirtatious, more showy, and infinitely less interesting. Dorian lets him put on his show, but he notices that Mickey's checking him out slowly, methodically.

Taking inventory, Dorian realizes, counting up his valuables. 

Dorian knows he made the right choice. The boys and girls who are drawn to his rich insolence these days are vapid and dull and lack cunning, and it's obvious that these boys aren't coming with him to stroke his ego and hope for handouts.

Mickey cracks his tattooed knuckles as Dorian leads them further into the house. Ian's eyes are on him, his hands wandering across Dorian's shoulders and tugging playfully at his lapels, but Dorian's seen a million beautiful boys and he's not distracted. He notices Mickey picking up the artifacts strewn artfully on tables throughout the foyer, and when they enter his parlor, Mickey trails a finger along the gilt frame around a Parisian girl Dorian loved a lifetime or two ago.

"Where's your bedroom?" Ian says artlessly, pulling Dorian close enough to kiss, though he doesn't, eyes sliding over to Mickey instead.

"Elsewhere," Dorian replies, darting in for a short sweet kiss before following Mickey deeper into the parlor. 

"You got some kind of painting fetish?" Mickey asks, staring up at the oversized portrait of Miss Ives that dominates the east wall. "Get off on dead bitches or something?"

"I appreciate beauty," Dorian says.

Mickey snorts. "You appreciate lookin' fancy, but you were slumming it in Boys Town just like the rest of the ball-garglers. Ain't no beauty there."

Dorian glances back at Ian, who is watching them like a lost puppy, unsure what to do. "I disagree."

Mickey's eyes dart to Ian, and he both softens -- real feelings there, Dorian envies him -- and gets a jealous, violent edge that Dorian knows will get directed at him. "He's not for the taking."

Dorian steps in close, close enough that Mickey looks like he wants to move back but refuses to retreat. He brushes one hand softly against Mickey's bare arm, soft enough that it's obviously an invitation, and breathes the words into Mickey's ear, brushing his mouth against it. "Then why are you here?" 

He pulls back just enough to see the anger in Mickey's eyes, the pause when he tries to come up with a valid excuse, one that doesn't involve his true motivations, which Dorian is still assuming is theft. Mickey wears his poverty like a badge of honor, and Dorian is close enough to notice that his shirt smells faintly of spoiled milk and baby powder.

A man like Mickey would do worse than let his boyfriend seduce a rich man into complacency before robbing him blind to feed his family. Dorian's always admired -- distantly, for familial connections that have weight to them aren't something he's overly familiar with -- the devotion to each other that desperate families seem to share.

Ian saves Mickey. "No one said anything about taking." HIs voice goes softer, flirtatious. "Sampling, now. That's something that can be discussed."

Mickey's still coiled like a rattlesnake ready to strike, but Dorian has never backed down from a challenge. He slides his hand up Mickey's arm and to his neck, cupping the back of his head and leaning in to lick his way into Mickey's mouth.

The kiss is over almost before it begins. Mickey jerks back and his fist slams into Dorian's face, and the bright-hot burst of pain as his mouth fills with blood is beautiful.

"The fuck?" Mickey snaps at him, and Ian's at his side, holding Mickey's arm back to save Dorian -- needlessly -- from another punch.

"Come on, now," Dorian tells him, smiling bloodily. "Don't I get a taste of you both?"

It's both the wrong and right thing to say, just like Dorian hoped. Ian's rentboy mask is finally dissolving as he openly glares at Dorian, but Mickey...

Mickey finally looks interested, eyes flicking to Dorian's bloody mouth. Dorian slowly licks at his upper lip, just enough to entice, and Mickey's hands ball into tighter fists.

"We're going," Ian says tightly, but Mickey hesitates.

Ian glances back at him, then to Dorian, and even Dorian can't read the conversation through all the layers of history.

"No strings," Dorian says, to be clear. "We'll all be strangers tomorrow."

Mickey looks back at Ian, gives a little shrug that makes Ian's shoulders shake, and says, "Damn right."

Dorian expects him to be as straightforward with fucking as he is with his fists, and he's not disappointed. But Ian counterbalances him, showing more restraint and finesse, and Dorian doesn't even mind when he wakes to find his wallet emptied and suspiciously empty spots on his shelves and display cases.

Sometimes there's a price to pay for beauty, after all.


End file.
